Read Online The Castaways by Iain Lawrence - Free Book Online

across the sea. But he held me tight—more tightly than I cared for—and the ship settled onto a new course. The sun came slanting through the sails now, making patches of gray and dazzling white, and the shadows of the ropes lay across them. Everything was moving, but slowly and grandly, like the soft rippling of albatross wings. My heart beat quickly, giving an extra shudder at the beauty of the wide sea all around, and the white curl thickening at the bow as the ship gathered speed.
    “You saved my life,” I said to Mr. Moyle. “Thank you.”
    He eyed me very strangely. “If you save a fellow’s life, his life is yours. You know that, don’t you? But no worry, lad.” He smiled with the most gruesome leer. “I won’t collect just yet, my boy. Collect I will, only not just yet.”
    He pinched my arm, but not from friendliness. With a push and a curse he sent me down again, and chased me all the way. I couldn’t move fast enough for his liking, and twice he trod on my fingers as he followed me down the ratlines.
    By the time I reached the deck, the ship was sailing nicely. We were reaching to the north with the yards braced back, the canvas taut and pulling. Mr. Beezley had given life to the wood and canvas, creating a creature that seemed full of joy to be charging along.
    My companions, too, were in fine spirits. Old troubles forgotten, a new adventure ahead, they were ready to follow Mr. Beezley to the ends of the earth. “Where’s the gold?”they asked. “Does it lie all over the ground, Mr. Beezley?” Already their eyes were agleam, as though they’d been blinded by gold dust.
    By nightfall our castaways had taken up quarters in the stern cabin, which had not been visited since our first morning aboard. From that moment on, as if the ghosts had left in fear, we heard nary a tap nor a breath as we pressed along.
    In the rubble of abandoned things, the castaways found clothes that might have been tailored to fit. They shaved their beards, though Mr. Beezley left a strange strip along his jawbone, a hairy frame for a homely face. Mr. Moyle, clean-shaven, looked more than ever like a grunting swine.
    Mr. Beezley lived up to his word, making sailors of us all. Under his guidance we overhauled the rigging from rail to truck, learning every term for every object in between. We took such a pride in handling that great ship, that every one of us—even I—was made better by it. Weedle proved himself handy with a marlinspike, and I often saw him sitting with Mr. Moyle, splicing rope in the sun. He was known by all as Captain Kiddy, which he took with good humor as he sported about in his piratical clothes. Benjamin Penny made a fine helmsman, though he had to stand on a wooden box to gain the height he needed. The giant Gaskin Boggis came to love going aloft. He would sit on the fore-topsail yard, high above the deck, drumming his heels against the wind-filled canvas.
    Happiest of all was Midgely With his
Flying Dutchman
so easily tamed, he had to give up the notion that we sailed a phantom ship. He thought it a fair trade, for Mr. Beezleymade him the cook and, within the week, little Midge was at home with his chores. To watch him work was something of a wonder. He knew where every pot and pan was kept, and one would swear he had the eyes of a cat as he went bustling about, turning our maggot-ridden supplies into hearty meals. It gave him hope, and a belief that his life hadn’t been ruined with the loss of his eyes. “That might be the best thing what ever happened to me, Tom,” he told me once. “There weren’t no one what was going to take no urchin out to sea. But now it’s a different kettle of fish, ain’t it, Tom? Now I’m an urchin what can cook.”
    Even I, at times, enjoyed those days, and especially my turns at the wheel. They began before dawn and ended in daylight, so that I marked the rising of every sun. I found an enormous beauty in the ship’s windborne passage, a great comfort to be